Beauty Bathing in the River

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Beauty Bathing in the River by Farooq Shooshah

The sea of passion,
Dripping from her eyes,
Generating precious pearls,
Tempted the waves to call her,
And make her yield.
She had been in seclusion on the bank!
Around her seagulls leaped
And flew by turns,
But she intently stared
At the quivering water,
Unable to undress
To witness her bare truth,
The perfection of feminine
Splendour in her!
Now melting in the embrace,
Dreading the approach of the waning pace,
She’s shaken to the bone by a tremor!
Beauty does her ablution in her river.
Here is
A river of milk,
A river of light,
A river of streaming milky light;
Shades of evergreen cypresses
Stretch their palms above her,
Announcing,
At the revelation of the body,
Getting ready to start,
That an hour may be spent,
Whilst she is about to depart!
The river,
Which has been lying in wait,
Now bathes in Beauty,
Having cast off his diffidence,
Extends his fingers
To the perfection of magnificence,
Is tempted to hold a dialogue,
But as she wouldn’t respond,
He makes do with the revealing touch!
Bathing is she in the daylight!
She puts off drying her body
Until evening,
With musk anointing
All her appointments,
Dreaming of the golden knight,
Recalling the flashing light!

* * *

My icon is filled with a solid body,
A staring body,
WIth reverberating breaths
In the space hanging down,
Which set oil on fire,
Free a bird that flaps its wings,
Dropping its fore-feathers
On the ruby of the heart;
The dancing flame is extinguished,
But the light survives
In a look, agitated!
Are you a eucalyptus tree?
Or an ancient time?
Your eyes:
Were they one day
The tips of two cups, tremulous,
Whose light leapt about
With pure nectar
Unveiling beauty’s burden
And the latent desire of men,
The scorching burn
Of lightnings!
Beauty now proposes a toast,
To all those gathered around
Her windows, waiting
For the times of her awakening—
The corridors of her passion.
The soaring beam, shooting,
Announcing that a unique glory looks on,
That people crane their necks,
Trying to capture the immininent moment!
But do they know
That Beauty’s steps to the river
Are hesitant,
And that she, in spite of her beauty crown,
Is frightened?
Only the river knows
When her lineaments are submerged
When her charms are embraced,
That she went into the water,
In fear!

* * *

What a figure!
Oh, for your high stature!
Do the roots of its features
Extend deep in
The amber earth?
Will it,
When legs are intertwined
Or looking up to a date at night,
Draw its charmed curtains
And fire of burning longings—
When she drinks, from the river honey,
Her brightness,
To light up the eyes of her lanterns,
The branches carrying her bunches of grapes,
Swaying on her bank,
Standing!
Did she see what her lovers saw?
Did she hear
What the winds have roared
To one another,
In the farthest solitudes?
Did she realize
That she was the target of slander,
When the heads met of palm trees
And of tall reeds,
To declare that ‘Beauty’,
Who’s in love with the river,
Was unfaithful,
That her worship rites were false?

* * *

In a morning that never came,
She left.
Some say
She stood on the bank
In perplexity,
Looking round as though
Chased out by townsfolk
And everybody’s eyes,
Whilst she still stood
Trembling!
It was said:
There she was, naked,
Having emerged from the river’s mouth,
Fled the embrace of the dodging lover,
To look for a fig-leaf
With which to hide ‘herself’,
Covering ‘herself’ with both hands,
For fear of scandal.
It was said:
She felt it was late
And so proceeded,
Caring nought for those who whispered,
Or looked,
Or cursed.
She listened, intently,
Perhaps a new morrow will come,
When she might replace
One people with another,
One face with another,
Cursing all her followers,
Sect by sect!
Whatever has changed the river,
Giving it blood-colour?
Has she anything left,
Apart from that taste, so bitter?
She filled her lungs
With a breeze blowing,
Then went away, bleeding!